With You
by Whilom
Summary: Before the Black Gate and during the ensuing battle, Legolas finds that things are spinning out of his control, and his promise to Aragorn might be broken with a slip from his fingers. Companion piece to Rain.
1. Promises Slipping

**Disclaimer: **Tolkien's, not mine.

**A/N:** This is a companion piece to _Rain_, because it echoes the same phrase, but it doesn't have Haldir in it, sadly enough. Notice that the phrase "Your friends are with you" also refers to the fact that sometimes the friends are in the same situation, e.g. both can't breathe, both are trapped by different circumstances, etc. It's not startlingly obvious, but I think it's cool. ;) It is movie-verse for the most part, and most people who have seen the movies will recognize which lines are from the movie and which are not.

As always, reviews are WELCOME!

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Legolas spurred his horse, Arod, forward, warily following Aragorn and Gandalf to the Black Gate. He felt Gimli, seated behind him, become tense as he tilted his head up to see the spiky top of the gate. It didn't look like a gate: it was an ebony wall of rusted metal.

The company halted before the gate and the elf took a moment to clear his mind. The evil was driving down upon it in waves and he was hard pressed to strengthen its barriers. It was difficult to think with the land crying out to him, the rocks and the ashes that the others thought were long dead. They called his name, calling him _edhel_, "elf" in his language. _Free us. Free us._ _Speak with us, we are lonely. _

_Your friends are with you._

"Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth!" Aragorn challenged, shouting at the forbidding gate. "Let justice be done upon him!"

There was a moment of pulsing silence as they wondered if their demand had been heard. Arod sidestepped nervously and Legolas reached down to calm him. Then, with a loud groan, the wall began dividing down the middle, opening inch by inch. Aragorn swung his horse around to confront whatever faced them.

It was a strange, bent figure that had once been a Man, wearing a spiked helmet which left no opening for the wearer to see. He was mounted on a horse clad in the same rusty armor as he, and possessed an aura of misplaced confidence that irked the elf. They all knew him for what he was, Sauron's personal henchman: the Mouth of Sauron.

"My master, Sauron the Great, bids thee welcome," the Mouth said in a deep voice, revealing a maw full of long, rotting teeth. It looked as though the rot had even eaten away the man's skin so as to give the appearance of having no lips.

Aragorn lifted his eyebrows but Legolas hid none of his repulsion. He narrowed his eyes to focus more deeply on the man, staring at him as though he could see through him. This was Sauron's henchman, his closest personal slave. With every breath the Mouth expelled, Legolas felt his hope draining away. _So here is the consequence of eating Sauron's lies and spewing out his words. How just. _Even the others seemed touched by the creature's malice, drawing back from it.

"Is there any in this rout with authority to treat with me?" asked the Mouth pompously.

"We do not come to treat with Sauron faithless and accursed," Gandalf said.

The man swung around as though searching for the speaker, baring his teeth in a feral growl.

Gandalf commanded, "Tell your master this: The armies of Mordor must disband. He is to depart these lands, never to return."

The Mouth interrupted the wizard. "Old Greybeard," he greeted as though speaking to a small child. He gasped in mock remembrance. "I have a token I was bidden to show thee." He reached under his ragged cloak and flung forward Frodo's mithril shirt with the desired effect. Merry's eyes widened and Pippin whispered Frodo's name. Gandalf caught the shirt and commanded the two hobbits to keep silence, a tremor in his own voice. Neither heeded him, too caught up in their sudden grief to understand the satisfaction they were giving to the Mouth and his Master. "The Halfling was dear to thee, I see. Know that he suffered greatly at the hands of his host."

Legolas felt Gimli's fierce grip on his arm from behind and knew that the dwarf was doing all he could to not strangle the man where he sat on his horse.

"Who would have thought one so small could endure so much pain?" the Mouth persisted. "And he did, Gandalf. He did."

The wizard seemed cowed by this news, not the strong bulwark he had been to them. He was hunched over Pippin, holding the mithril shirt like a lifeline. Aragorn saw and moved forward to confront the Mouth.

"And who is this? Isildur's heir? It takes more to make a king than a broken Elvish blade," the Mouth mocked.

Suddenly the man's head was on the ground and Aragorn wheeled his horse to face them, his sword bloody. "I do not believe it! I will not," he hissed, looking at Gandalf.

Before they could respond, the company's attention was again drawn to the gates which were being forced open further. A wave of orcs faced them, holding aloft their hideous banners and stretching into the Black Land as far as the eye could see.

But they weren't running to meet them. They were marching.

Legolas' lip curled and he glared at them. Let the rabble try to attain order; let them walk like Men. Underneath he knew their hearts were as black and twisted as any other, whatever way they moved.

"Fall back," Aragorn ordered. "Fall back!"

Smirks rose on the orcs' faces but Legolas knew that Aragorn ordered them to retreat, not for fear, but to form their ranks and to give them their orders. The soldiers took a few tentative steps back until Aragorn ordered them to hold their ground. "Men of Rohan, of Gondor, my brothers!" he addressed them. "I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when the courage of Men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship. But it is not this day."

Aragorn's words resonated deep within Legolas, reminding him of the battle of the Deep, so long ago it seemed. _"When we forsake our friends..." _

_Your friends are with you._

"An hour of wolves and shattered shields when the age of Men comes crashing down. But it is not this day. This day we fight! By all that you hold dear on this good earth I bid you stand, Men of the West!"

Aragorn raised his weapon and the soldiers did likewise, the unsheathing of so many swords sounding like the hissing of hot stones in water. The orcs had continued their march, and Legolas could feel rather than see them on every side. They were surrounded, a valiant cluster of good in overwhelming evil.

"_What can Man do against such reckless hate?"_ Theoden's hopeless words echoed in Legolas' mind.

They were all together, prepared for battle, but the orcs remained stationary, glaring at them with their beady eyes and snarling in protest. Something was ordering them back. The Eye of Sauron could be seen in its tower beyond the gate and it turned its bright gaze toward them, nearly blinding them with its power. _"Aragorn,"_ it slowly beckoned in a fell whisper blowing to them across the hot wind. The Ranger moved forward a step and Legolas' eyes slid to him. Worry creased the elf's brow as he felt the voice softly beckon again, _"Elessar."_

Legolas lowered his bow, staring at his friend's back. _Your friends are with you. _Aragorn's shoulders were bent as though a heavy load had been pushed on them by the whispers. He turned back to face his army, his eyes vacant. His empty gaze rested on the elf and Legolas could read nothing in his eyes. It was not fear, nor grief that held him there. It was nothing that he had not been feeling the entire time they were a Fellowship. Aragorn felt sole responsibility for everything that had happened, and for all that would happen. He felt alone.

With all his being, Legolas willed himself to be heard. _Your friends are with you, Aragorn._

Slowly, the cloudy haze lifted from the Ranger's eyes and he squared his shoulders. "For Frodo," he said quietly, then raised his sword and charged forward with a battle cry.

The two hobbits were the first to begin running after him, their little swords drawn. Legolas grit his teeth and bent low, lunging after Aragorn. _I would have followed you, my brother, my captain, my king._ As Aragorn lifted his sword for the first blow, Legolas let loose an arrow, not to hit a particular target, but for Aragorn to see the green-gold fletching and know that he was there, right behind him. _Your friends are with you._

The first clash of arms always made the elf flinch, not because he hadn't heard it before, but because nothing could harden him to the press of two armies. Then he was in his element, in the midst of the battle. He could see his friends battling the orcs, Eomer using his round shield to pummel his enemies, Aragorn forsaking his kingly garments to use his training as a Ranger. Legolas noticed the dwarf was carving a wide arc around himself with his axe, but the elf had no time to play counting games with his friend. Shoving orcs with his bow, he used it to block his enemies' blows while he relied on his body as a weapon. They were buying time—that was all. It didn't really matter how many they killed, only that they bought Frodo enough time to reach the accursed mountain.

A screech from above caused him to cringe. A dark shadow fell on his heart. The Ringwraiths had come. Sauron knew what they fought for with their pitiful army and had sent his deadliest servants. Legolas could fight against flesh and blood, but spirits and doubts, _fear_, were far more difficult to battle against with knife and bow. Reaching overhead for his knives, he grasped the handle of one and felt it slip ever so slightly in his grip. The tingling feeling of something falling from his grasp danced over his fingertips and he struggled to ignore it. He had never slipped before. His knives had never slipped. Why did they do so now? He whipped both out and used them with renewed ferocity against the orc in front of him, yet the feeling of loss nagged his mind.

To his right, he saw Aragorn dodge a blow as he struggled to free his sword from a fallen orc. How had he been pushed so far from his friend? Legolas began moving toward the Ranger, sidestepping confrontation rather than embracing it. He felt a wild need to fight side by side with Aragorn, as he usually did, fueled by his sudden insecurity. His knives had slipped…

A loud roar behind the Ranger caused him to freeze. Before he turned around, he knew what it was—a troll. He had felt the same icy panic when the Fellowship had traveled through Moria and Frodo had been stabbed by a beast half this one's size. It raised its mace to crush him but he blocked it—barely. He was too weak to fight this monster and it had singled him out as its prey. Aragorn ducked and feinted right, but the troll had already seen through his plan. The Ranger connected with the mace and felt himself flying through the air only to land facedown in the ashy dirt.

Legolas stared in horror, his eyes riveted on the fallen Ranger. The press of orcs was all around him and he couldn't move against them or even think past the instinct that he had to get to Aragorn. _Your friends are with you._ He had lied. If he did not help his friend now, he had lied.

Aragorn rolled over on his side and tried to scoot backwards, away from the troll. The beast was coming closer, looming over him. It was over. Legolas gathered all his strength and heaved through the wall of enemies, wrestling them aside and sprinting to Aragorn. He felt himself yell Aragorn's name but even he could not hear the sound over the battle's din. Someone elbowed him in the ribs and the air left his lungs in a rush. _Your friends are with you, Aragorn. _

Aragorn was on his back with the troll's foot crushing his chest. He drew his knife and dug it into the foot's soft flesh but the troll did not move. He couldn't breathe; black spots danced before his eyes. He wanted to cry out, to call for help but he couldn't. Legolas would come, wouldn't he? He had always come. His eyes searched the blurring figures and he caught the fevered blue gaze of the elf. Legolas was barely visible through the armies' throng, on one knee as though he had tripped and fallen in his haste. His head snapped up and he again pushed forward to the Ranger. _Your friends are with you._

Then, with a rush that almost pushed him to unconsciousness, Aragorn pulled in a full breath and sat up. The troll was standing beside him but its attention was on the Eye in the tower. A loud screech echoed in the air and the troll turned, running from the battle. Legolas stood to his feet and turned slowly, the wind blowing his hair from his face. He blinked slowly, tasting the promise of rain. _Rain? In this broken land?_

Aragorn was also standing, staring in awe at the Eye. The tower was falling, crumbling like shattered glass and Sauron was trapped where he had once held a fortress. Aragorn's mouth was open but it tipped up in a faint smile. Sauron's power centered in one mighty globe, and then burst, scattering anything that stood in its way. The ground opened up to swallow the orcs and stopped just before the feet of Aragorn's army. The Black Gate itself went down in ruin, crumbling along with its cruel towers. Amidst the celebrating of the hobbits and the dwarf, Mount Doom exploded as the crowning glory in Sauron's destruction. Flaming balls dropped from it onto the fell beasts and their Dark Riders.

Merry had his sword raised in victory, but his face was stricken. Gandalf was grim and Pippin bowed down, weeping. Gimli stood open-mouthed, moving beside the elf for comfort. Aragorn said nothing, his eyes fixated on the burning mountain. Legolas' forced himself to watch the destruction, the ruin of all they had fought against, but felt no joy in his heart. Instead, his fingers tingled with the same feeling as when they had slipped against his knives. He clenched them into trembling fists and felt his eyes fill with tears that ran down his cheeks. _Your friends are with you,_ he remembered, and then added, _all but two._ _All but two…_


	2. Promises Kept

**A/N: **And you thought I was going to leave you with a depressing ending... ;P Whatever made you think that...?

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The sound of merry laughter came from the room outside which they were waiting and Legolas felt his heart warm. The two hobbits entered the room first, followed by the dwarf. Next it was him. He turned in the doorway and felt Frodo's awed smilegreet him. It was enough. He stood quietly, a benevolent smile on his face, surveying the joyful scene rather than joining in it. Aragorn stood beside him, giving him a playful nudge on the shoulder.

"We have done it, my friend," the Ranger said quietly.

"We have," Legolas agreed.

_Your friends are with you._

"Nearly," Legolas murmured, thinking of those they had lost: Boromir, Haldir.

Aragorn scrutinized the elf's profile, understanding perfectly but waiting for his friend to speak his heart. He didn't have to wait long.

The elf's quiet voice was slightly hoarse, as though he was trying to force the words around a wall in his throat. "I felt my fingers slip, Aragorn. My knives slipped in my hands." Legolas turned eyes that were almost pleading on the Ranger.

"You take too much upon yourself, my friend," Aragorn protested. "You are not responsible—"

"For their deaths? Their lives slipped from my fingers, leaving me to grasp air."

"I felt the same at Helm's Deep," Aragorn said quietly. "I thought of Boromir and his death, his last words and my promise. Then I remembered your words to me." Aragorn turned to lock eyes with the elf. _"Your friends are with you_, you said. It was enough," he finished simply, smiling gently.

And it was.


End file.
